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Rare Confectionery was bustling as usual on a Saturday mid-morning, filled with customers and smelling heavenly sweet. Amity and Charlotte were both assisting customers, and Beatrice was making toffee.
Her younger sister had already called out when Greer hurried by with a wave of his hand as he headed to Asprey’s. And Beatrice had to cool her heels and wait. She had a new recipe to try and had decided it would be the perfect task to keep her mind occupied. Elsewise, she might go insane.
Thus, after mixing a cup of treacle, a pound of sugar, and a half pint of water, she let them boil and bubble until they were the color of straw. As soon as she removed the pot from the stove, setting it upon the copper counter, already tarnished with marks, she stirred in an ounce of bicarbonate of soda. As the recipe stated, it fizzed and frothed. When it had finished expanding, she turned the toffee out into a buttered pan — her first honeycomb toffee. In a couple hours, after it had cooled, she would break it with her little steel hammer and coat the pieces in Amity’s melted chocolate.
“He’s here,” Charlotte sang out, and Beatrice dashed through the curtain. She could hardly see him through the sizable crowd of customers, but when they locked eyes, she rushed forward, took his hand, and disregarding propriety and any witnesses, dragged him into the workroom.
She’d expected news from him. Nevertheless, when he told his tale of nighttime adventure, she was astonished.
“With Finley’s help, I got the men to Whitehall. Honestly, I wish I could have let Jeremiah and his brother go, but seeing how I was such a terrible judge of character and all my so-called friends from the chophouse are dishonest, what could I do?”
She shook her head in wonder. “Then Mr. Molino was not behind it, but the other one, the one you said was a jolly sort.”
“Delorey, who had a nice way of slapping me on the back and Jeremiah who recently lost his job. A detective will detain Delorey today, and I guess he’ll tell the police whether Molino was part of it, as well. My suspicion is that he was involved. After all, a king’s ransom is enough for a few men to share.”
“And for them to do some despicable things,” Beatrice added. But there was something else she was waiting for him to tell her.
“I know you probably are eager to know,” he said.
“Yes!” Her heart beat fast. How had his meeting with Mr. Russell gone?
“I hired a glazer to fix the window in the study and the one by your servant’s door in the back. By the time your parents return, they won’t even notice there was damage.”
She frowned. Did he really think she gave a tinker’s damn about a few broken windows when their future was at stake?
“Greer, I ...,” she trailed off at the way he was holding himself back from smiling. “Oh, you!” She smacked him on the shoulder. “Tell me how it went!”
“It went well. Very, very well. Miss Sylvia is an extremely wealthy cat.”
Beatrice clamped a hand to her mouth as she gasped, feeling her eyes fill with tears. She’d been hopeful ever since speaking with Asprey’s manager, but hopes could easily be dashed, as she knew. In this case, the opposite was true.
“I cannot believe it,” she whispered.
“Nor can I. And if not for you, I would have given the entire fortune to Mr. Molino for the price of paste.”
Unable to fight the warm feeling of love, she moved into the circle of his arms. “You know, you are simply back where you started,” she said, with her cheek against his chest. “A rich American in search of a wife.”
“Not exactly. I had money, but not anything like what Mr. Russell has just disclosed.”
She shrugged. “Money or more money, that’s all the same.”
He laughed, perhaps at her nonchalance. She didn’t mind.
“What I mean,” Beatrice explained, “is that you’re back to where you started, not being able to claim your ancestral home.”
“I feel the same as I did before, when I thought I had a full bank account. I love you, Miss Rare-Foure, and I will not think twice about losing Carsonbank House if I gain you as my wife.”
He loved her! And he’d finally said the words aloud.
“I love you, too,” she said, feeling giddy with happiness. “But I’ve told you that already. I’m glad you didn’t let me chase you away from our shop.”
He laughed. “And I’m glad you make toffee, as it has become my favorite sweet in the whole world.”
“Then I shall make you as much as you wish.” She was standing in her family’s confectionery, being held by the man who would become her husband, and she could not imagine ever feeling happier than she did at that moment. “What happens now?”
“Your parents are supposed to return any day, aren’t they? And when they do, I will go with hat in hand to your frightening father—”
She laughed. “He is the least frightening of fathers.”
“And then we will announce our engagement. That is, if you still want to marry a man who has to rely on his cat for his livelihood.”
They both chuckled. She liked the feel of his laughter beneath her cheek.
“I stopped by Chestertons’ agency this morning before even going to Asprey’s and told the agent I wanted the townhouse after all.”
“How wickedly daring of you, Mr. Carson,” Beatrice said, drawing back. “You counted your chickens after all.”
“Luckily, Mr. Russell said they will all hatch quite nicely. In short, Miss Rare-Foure, things are looking rosy.” He cocked his head to the constant noise in the front, the bell tinkling, Charlotte laughing, Amity explaining what was in the chocolates. “I know your shop is busy, but do you think your sisters would mind if you escape with me for a few hours?”
“When?” she asked.
“Now,” he urged. “After all, they don’t want you in the front with the customers, anyway. Not the glowering toffee-maker who lurks back here, stirring her bubbling potions.”
“You make me sound like a witch.” But she smiled.
“Say yes. The weather is fine,” he added.
“It is,” she agreed, feeling like the most agreeable woman in the world. Why had she ever been short-tempered and crabby? She doubted she would ever glower again.
“Will you take a walk with me?” he persisted.
“Somewhere in particular?” she asked.
“Perhaps.
In a few minutes, she had on her favorite blue cloak and was resting her gloved hand upon his arm. They walked south past Marlborough House and its walled gardens, still scarcely believing they’d been part of the event now declared “the fancy-dress ball of the decade.” Crossing The Mall road, with Queen Victoria’s Buckingham Palace down at the right end, they cut through St. James’s Park and strolled east to the river.
“Do you know yet where we might be going?” he asked.
“Since we’ve passed Whitehall and Scotland Yard, I assume we’re not visiting your chophouse chums.”
“No, definitely not. After dealing with that shifty lot, I think I shall let you help me pick my friends in the future.”
“In fairness, it sounds as though some of them were terribly desperate, and at least the brothers didn’t harm anyone.”
Greer stopped in his tracks and turned to her. “I cannot believe what I’m hearing. You are a changed woman, Miss Rare-Foure, from the one who seemed to have little patience even for nice old ladies trying to buy sweets.”
She covered her mouth as she laughed. It had been the very thing she’d been thinking. But she protested anyway. “They are hardly ever nice old ladies. Usually snout-nosed younger ladies seemingly with sticks up the—”
“Beatrice!” he exclaimed looking right and left to see if any could overhear their discourse.
“What?” she asked, starting to walk again, pulling him with her. “Sticks up the back of their corsets was all I was going to say.”
“Hm. In any case, we’re nearly there.”
She decided not to press the issue and ask. After all, they’d spent months trying to achieve goals that ultimately were for naught. Now she was happy simply to float idly along like a leaf on the wind and let things play out as they would.
However, as they approached the recently installed addition to the Embankment, there was no mistaking his destination.
“Cleopatra’s Needle,” she mused. “Of all the sights you want to see in London, this one seems an odd choice when there are so many old and magnificent structures.”
“Older than Ancient Egypt?” he quipped.
“You have a point. But it’s very new for London. Two weeks, isn’t it, since they raised it? You must have noticed in the papers all the controversy. Why, I believe I was reading about it the very first day you entered Rare Confectionery. Strange! Anyway, it’s considered something of an eyesore by many. One editor said, ‘We regret that, in defiance of good taste, it has been decided to erect the obelisk on the Thames Embankment.’” They laughed, staring up at the reddish stone monument.
“What do you think?” she asked him.
“As a visitor to your country, I think it impolitic for me to give my opinion first.”
She poked him with her elbow. “You are no longer merely a visitor. You will move into a London townhouse in a week’s time.” And have a wife and maybe children soon after that, she added to herself.
“True, but still, you should tell me your thoughts first.”
She nodded, but nevertheless, they walked the last few yards in silence, approaching the towering obelisk.
At its base, Greer said quietly, “Sixty-nine feet high and six men died to bring it here,” and they craned their necks.
Together, they examined the Egyptian hieroglyphs going up the sides. “The deeds of Thutmose III and Ramses II,” she remarked, having read about them, including the translations.
He nodded, and they walked to the other side of it, looking back toward the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben in the distance.
“It is the first time I’ve seen it close up. I like it, to tell you the truth. It’s a little odd, but also awe-inspiring,” she said. “Even the winches they used last month to set it in place were beyond impressive.”
“I must say,” Greer mused, “I think it looks completely out of place. The way I felt when I first got to your shores.”
“You had a far easier time getting here than this monster. The obelisk and the ship it came over on nearly ended up at the bottom of the Bay of Biscay.”
“Let’s take a seat, shall we?” he asked. Taking her by the waist, he hoisted her onto the thick wall next to the obelisk. Behind her was the Thames, sparkling on the sunny late-September day.
“Did you read what they buried at its base?” he asked, sitting beside her.
“A time capsule, they called it,” she said, still arranging her skirts, happily still feeling the warmth where his hands had touched her and certain she was the luckiest woman alive, to be sitting there with Greer Carson.
“They made a terrible mistake,” he said, sounding serious.
She stopped fidgeting and looked at him. “What do you mean?
“Purportedly, they put in photographic images of twelve of the prettiest English women. But from where I’m sitting, they missed by far and away the best of the lot.”
Beatrice felt her cheeks heat up. He stroked a finger across one of them, and she smiled.
“You are the only English beauty I care about, and your photograph ought to be in there,” he added, then ruined the romantic nature of his comment by adding, “along with the box of cigars, the shilling razor, the baby’s bottle, and the copy of Whitaker’s Almanack.”
She laughed. “Don’t forget they included hairpins, a portrait of the queen, and the rupee.”
“Yours should definitely be alongside Queen Victoria’s.” He took her hand in his, and she looked around to see if anyone was watching, but pedestrians who noticed didn’t seem to think anything of a couple holding hands and enjoying the exotic, new monument.
“I have something for you,” Greer said, “to commemorate this day.”
“Really?” She’d never told anyone before that she quite enjoyed being surprised, as long as it was a nice surprise. And little gifts were the best type of surprise. “What is it?” She nearly clapped her hands like a child.
From his pocket he pulled out a miniature bronze model of the obelisk and placed it on her palm. For some reason, the sight of it, a three-inch representation of something that weighed two-hundred tons tickled her. She laughed again.
“Thank you.” She stared at the craftsmanship and minute detail of the small obelisk.
“Two shillings, six pence,” he told her.
Beatrice shook her head. “Such an American! You’re not supposed to tell me the cost of a gift, but I shall take very good care of it.”
“The same price as lunch off the joint at The Grosvenor Gallery Restaurant, or a good joint dinner at the Criterion, a six o’clock meal at the Caledonian, or a half-past seven one at Provitali’s.”
She opened her mouth and blinked. “Oh my, you have learned a lot since the day you had no notion of what to pay for a small bag of toffee and even tried to give me a half-sovereign as a tip.”
“I’ve been living in a hotel for so long without my own kitchen, I think I know every restaurant in London and what each meal costs.”
“In any case, costly or not, I thank you for my miniature Cleopatra’s Needle. I shall never forget this day.”
Unexpectedly, he placed something else on her palm. “I also picked out this for you, my beautiful bride.”
She looked down at an Asprey’s ring box, and her heart skipped a beat.
Without opening it, she dropped it along with the bronze monument onto her lap, threaded her arms around Greer’s neck, and kissed him.
Somewhere nearby, she heard a woman gasp, but Beatrice didn’t give a fig for polite society.